The Laughter of Carthage (18 page)

I went from the theatre to the nearest Western Union office and cabled Esmé: I had received her letter, noted the contents and a ticket would shortly follow. I returned to our digs, having celebrated thoroughly in a low-priced gin joint I knew, at about three in the morning. I was staying at
Mulvaney’s Apartments
on Jones Street, not very far from the theatre. It had a fancy glass door, reinforced with wire mesh; the desk was in the vestibule between this and a similar door some five feet further along. As I picked up my key from the Japanese night porter, he whispered something to me. I thought he was asking if I wanted a woman (it is a standard question from night porters at that time in the morning). I told him no. On the other side of the second glass door a slender figure was rising from where it had been sitting on the stairs. I grew alarmed at first, thinking it must be Brodmann. But this man was much taller. I went through the second door and turned up the gas in the hall. Smiling uncertainly, his hands deep in the pockets of his raincoat. Officer Callahan seemed apologetic. I did not care why. With Esmé so close, it now appeared I was to be locked away from her. I had no visa, false papers. I would spend time in a Federal jail, then be deported. It was about the best I could hope for.

‘I suppose I’m speaking to Mr Pallenberg,’ said Callahan.

I did not reply. I stood staring at him, almost tempted to kill him. I was desperate. I could not be separated any longer from my girl; it would be an outrage.

‘Well,’ Callahan looked away from me, ‘where do you care to do this, sir?’

I took him up the flight of stairs and unlocked the door to my room. He waited for me to enter, then he followed me in. After I lit the globe I glanced quickly around to make sure I had left none of my cocaine in view. It was hidden, but if he decided to search my luggage he would find it easily. I wiped my moist forehead.

‘You know your money’s frozen, do you, sir?’ The Irishman lowered his eyes towards the bed. It was unmade. He reached down and pulled the threadbare coverlet up, then seated himself, unbuttoning his raincoat and drawing out the same notebook he had used on the train. ‘We noticed you haven’t used the account. Besides that one check.’

‘I suppose it was my only mistake,’ I said.

‘Maybe. You didn’t do yourself much good blowing Walker without paying your hotel bill.’

I was not sure how much I should tell him. In a similar situation, with the Cheka in Russia. I had learned all information is worth hoarding. I waited to see if he would reveal anything else.

‘That was a pointless, petty crime,’ he said. ‘Up until then you’d kept your nose clean, at least as far as we had evidence. You could be charged for it.’

When I still remained silent, he went on: ‘And now you’ve changed your name, plainly to remain here illegally, since you’ve made no attempt to renew your visa.’

‘Is that it?’

He sighed. ‘A good lawyer could keep you in the country for a few months, maybe longer. Plainly you prefer it here. Is there something in Europe you’d maybe like to forget?’ He looked up at me from ambiguous. Catholic eyes. Suddenly I realised he was very probably a failed priest.

‘Can you help me?’ I said. My mouth was dry. I was trembling. Deliberately I let him see how nervous I was.

‘Help’s what I wanted to offer last year.’ I watched him grow slowly into his role. ‘We’re not ghouls. And we don’t always go by the book. What happened?’

‘I was frightened, Mr Callahan.’ Seating myself on the other side of the bed, I did not look at him directly. I tried to imagine a confessional grille between us. ‘My life was threatened.’

‘Who by?’ His voice grew softer. ‘Can you say?’

‘I had no clear idea what the Ku Klux Klan was when I arrived. I love America. They offered me a speaking circuit. It seemed an ideal means of earning a living while I toured your country. I never planned to stay here forever. By the time I realised what the Klan actually was, I was deeply enmeshed. Nothing specific, but I knew it would be unwise to anger them.’

‘I guessed as much.’ He sighed. ‘Go on.’

I had no choice but to encourage this mockery of religious ritual, to paint him a picture of my terror, of Klan threats, of my attempts to get out and finally, after I had talked to him on the train, my decision to refuse any further lecture engagements. Whereupon Mrs Mawgan had turned me over to the organisation’s bully-boys. They had beaten me, left me for dead. It was the Klan, not the Justice Department, I had hidden from. Certainly I had no wish to return to Europe. I had done nothing wrong. I had fought the Bolsheviks in Russia. I had been instrumental in getting hundreds, possibly thousands, to safety through Odessa. The Chekist Commissar Brodmann had been specifically commissioned to hunt me down. I got up to open the closet containing my clothes. One of my Russian uniforms hung there. ‘Those decorations were honourably won,’ I told him. I explained how I had flown against the Reds, how I had crashed and almost drowned. Yet Brodmann had searched me out until I was forced to flee Odessa, returning to France, my birthplace. There I had been the victim of a Chekist conspiracy. I had come to America hoping I might eventually be forgotten. If I went back now I would probably be going to my death. I had worked for the Klan because I thought they were anti-Bolshevik. I had not realised their own revolutionary ambitions.

Now Callahan was nodding rapidly, still making his notes. His ‘Go on’ was automatic. He was a monument of pious sympathy. ‘That’s it, Mr Callahan. There’s no more, save a few details. I believe the Klan and the Cheka are still hunting me. If you succeeded, then they too must soon find me. I suppose I’m as good as dead.’

He shook his head adamantly. ‘Only the Justice Department could investigate your bank accounts. You should bear in mind it’s our job to protect people, as well. Why didn’t you come to me? I had a notion you were innocent. I gave you my card.’

‘I thought you had finished your enquiry. I could not believe I had done anything criminal. But Bessy said you’d jail me.’

‘Mr Whiskers wasn’t interested in you. He wanted to get the dope on Bessy Mawgan, enough to send her down for a long stretch. We’re pretty sure she was the Klan fronter for half a dozen side rackets.’ He paused, including narcotics,’ he said. ‘Prostitution. You name it. She and Clarke and that other woman, Tyler, moved in on a fairly small-time gyp. They turned the Klan into big bucks. But Mawgan had the weight as well as the pedigree. Her old man went to the chair for a double burn down in Toledo. We were pretty certain he was her fall guy. Did you have any idea of that?’

‘None.’

‘That was my hunch. You, I could get through to. You were an amateur. But she was an old campaigner. She was spreading the slush money. She was delivering the chippies and practically anything else, from gazoonies to moonshine, to darned near every official and politician in the country willing to take a squeeze. So, we need to have the goods on her if we want her to sing.’ He paused. That’s why I’m willing to do a deal with you, Mr Pallenberg.’

‘You want information from me?’ I had none worth the name. Mrs Mawgan had always kept her other business affairs secret. He took my hesitation for fear, or possibly loyalty.

‘She put you on the spot. Why shouldn’t you tip her up? It you’re worried about recriminations, I’ll guarantee you’ll never have to take the stand. We’ll cover you all ways. And you can go on doing whatever it is you’re doing now. Anything you like, once you’ve whistled the whole tune and put your signature at the bottom.’

I saw a chance of immediately saving Esmé. ‘What about the money in my banks?’ I asked. ‘Will you release that?’

‘Can’t. On account of the order we used. It’s recorded as suspected criminal profits. When Mrs Mawgan takes a fall, or better still when all the crooks she was slipping the squeeze to are in the slammer, we’ll be able to do something about that. Meanwhile we prefer to know where you are. As our secret witness, we don’t want you leaving the country. You get an automatic “indefinite stay”. All you have to do is finger the floozy who put the spot on you. If you won’t, it’s hello Russia.’

I was convinced. It seemed I could gain my freedom, but disappointingly still had to find money for Esmé’s fare. I decided, in the interests of justice and for the sake of those I loved, to make a statement. I felt like a rat, but I had no choice. I talked into the night, dearly wishing I could get to my cocaine to keep my thoughts in order. I mentioned every name which came back to me. I made it clear that Major Sinclair was an idealist. Prompted by my Confessor I invented orgies, murders, perversion and pay-offs. Some I did not know by name, I said, but I gathered they were big wheels in Washington. I excelled myself as an inventor. George Callahan was almost crooning with joy by the time I took the fountain pen from his hand and signed myself Max Peterson on the last page. ‘That’s peachy,’ he murmured in his strange Irish accent. ‘That’s peachy, Mr Peterson.’ He closed the book. ‘Now, so long as you haven’t pattered me, we’re in business. All we have to do is locate Mrs Mawgan, get her lagged and tagged on the strength of this little brief and we can start going against the politicians we’re really after. I’m much obliged. You might not understand, or care, but you’ve performed an important public service this night.’ He was virtually rubbing his hands.

‘I do realise it, Mr Callahan. I’ve no desire to associate with criminals. Had I been a degree more
au fait
with your country I should not be in this position.’

‘For my part, Mr Peterson, I’m mighty grateful.’ There was a gleeful smirk on his thin, monkish face which he could not quite erase. As he left, he handed me a fresh card. ‘If you’re in any sort of a scrape, call that number and ask for George Callahan.’

‘Will the Klan be out for blood now, Mr Callahan?’ I knew I had sacrificed a great deal in order to be united with my Esmé. The beating outside Walker would be nothing to the ferocious tortures for which the Klan were famous.
A good friend, but an implacable enemy
, as Eddy Clarke had said. At least he was in jail, though he did not deserve to be. He would have understood my position. Indeed, if he had not been betrayed, I should not have been troubled by the Justice Department, Brodmann or this urgent need to raise money for Esmé’s ticket. Mrs Mawgan, on the other hand, had earned whatever came to her. No one would ever accuse me of betraying her. She had fled Walker, leaving me to the renegade Klansmen. Even then, given a choice, I would not have brought witness against her. But any rational person would agree that if a woman had to be sacrificed it should rightly be Mrs Mawgan. Esmé was in need of help. My innocent sister, my daughter, my love! Oh, how I would pile roses on her bed.
Schönen roten rosen for meyn freydik froy! Moja siostra rózy. Meyn gelihte!
She will save me from this
groylik gadles!
She will restore the truth. With her beside me, my cities shall take to the air again. No enemies shall I fear.
Die Freunde sink gekommen und die Feinde entkommen!

Mrs Cornelius sitzt am Steuer.
She could see I had not slept. Though she hated driving, feeling she somehow lost face by doing so, she took over when we left town next morning, bound for Hollister. She was an inexpert, if lordly, motorist, with her fringed green satin up to her thighs and her powerful muscles flexing as she manipulated the van towards the highway, cursing continuously. She paused long enough to ask me, almost sympathetically, if I had been frightened by something. Then I told her of my visit from the Federal officer. ‘Blimey,’ she said, ‘we c’d orl be in jug. Me an’ the free girls’re illegal too, ain’t we?’

‘Only until I can make a phone call. This man trusts me. I was able to assist the State on a matter of grave national importance.’

‘Wot ther fuck’ve ya bin up ter, nar. Ive!’ She gave the wheel an exasperated wrench. ‘Ya little bleeding judas!’ She laughed heartily. ‘Nar, don’ tell me! I didn’t arsk!’ I laughed with her. I could now almost always tell when she was joking.

I sent Esmé another telegram from Hollister and phoned my new friend Callahan. He was not in the office. I was given another number to call. It was long-distance to New York. He had not yet arrived. I would remember, in a day or so, to telephone again and ensure Mrs Cornelius’s legality.
Der Hund verfolgte der Hase.
Already he was on the trail. We played the Berberich Theater that evening and my performance, while less abstracted than the earlier one, was again poor. The audience was noticeably restless. Mrs Cornelius kicked me twice, surreptitiously. As we came off she hissed, ‘If yore gonna keep changing me name from Rosa to Esmé I don’t care. But bleedin’ make it one or the uvver. They were beginnin’ ter fink it wos a bleedin’ comedy tonight.’ I apologised. I said she must understand how I was feeling. ‘Too well, Ivan,’ she said savagely. ‘Too bloody well!’